Compass
by ceruleanblues
Summary: AU. Before she knew it, she was running.


**A/N: **I try not to make a habit of straying into oneshots between each update of THA, but honest to God, I've wanted to write this fic for a while now and I just had to. I make no apologies for the amount of Doctor Who references I've inserted into my stories :P

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Compass**

It was bleak—an utter torment to be out in the frigid winter night sitting solo on the curb—and as she curled tighter into herself, teeth chattering as she inhaled from the last of her cigarette between her fingers, Quinn Fabray reckoned she was absolutely out of her fucking mind. In all of her youthful eighteen years walking the face of the planet, making bad decisions every single day, this had to be the one to take the cake. Pulling the cellphone out of the pocket of her denim jeans, she began dialing once again—for the umpteenth time since she had arrived at the bus station—and when it led her straight to voicemail, she reckoned she could commit murder right at that moment.

"Where the fuck is she?"

The nicotine lingering in her lungs gave no reprieve to her frazzled nerves. A glance down at the screen indicated that it was ten past eleven—a full half an hour later than they had agreed to meet—and Quinn was starting to get antsy from the wait.

The possibility that something terrible could've happened to her best friend was enough to drive her mental, and perhaps she ought to call the cops or something, but she knew better. Santana Lopez was too feisty and headstrong to allow something as menial as a road accident or a mugging get in the way of her lifelong dream of being a movie star. It had taken them three fucking months to get there; to finally be able to scrape up just barely enough for the one-way trip. They had gone through every fail-safe plan in the book, had combed through every situation and scenario a hundred times over. When that bus leaves the station, regardless of the consequences, they were both going to be on it; dead body be damned.

With another long pull of the smoke, she coarsely stubbed it out, silently cussing the other woman in more ways than she could count. From a distance away, the lone Greyhound parked in a lot rumbled to life and people began gathering their belongings to board.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "Shit, shit, shit."

A sudden trill in the air startled the living daylights out of her, but when she saw the name that was flashing, her annoyance returned full-force.

"Where the fucking hell are you?" she furiously demanded, ignoring polite pleasantries and idle chatter. "The bus is leaving soon and your ass isn't here yet."

There was a pregnant pause from the other end of the line, and for a second, Quinn wondered if Santana had hung up on her; it surely wouldn't be the first time.

"I'm not going, Q."

Her best friend's uncharacteristically apprehensive tone should have easily given away the fact that something was atrociously wrong, but still riddled with nervous energy and in a prissy mood from the cold, Quinn chose the alternative and began lashing out.

"What on bleeding Earth are you talking about?" she fumed, one hand clenched at her side, knuckles digging into the rough ground. "You're not going?"

"I'm not."

Quinn threw her head back to stare up at the velvet sky, cursing her rotten luck. "You're fucking kidding me, right?" she groaned. "Please tell me that this is one of your sick jokes."

"Something's come up," Santana informed her quietly, her words coming out in strained syllables. "I—I—Quinn, my dad's back. He's home; for good this time."

The news felt like a punch in her gut; a betrayal of sorts, though for the life of her, she didn't know why. A part of her was elated—thrilled, even—that after years, father and daughter were at last back together again, while the other part of her heart ached with envy; that while one of them would go on and be with a proper family, the other would have to continue living in the shadows of a perfect older sister who surrendered to suicide and a depressed mother who didn't care if she was still breathing or not. Her vision blurring with unshed tears, Quinn swallowed the huge lump in her throat and braved herself for what was to come.

"I'm so happy for you, San," she croaked out. "So fucking happy for you."

The Latina was clearly sobbing now, torn between crying and laughing. "I—I can't leave now; you understand me, right? Not now when—when—I have him again."

Quinn placed a palm to her forehead, hoping to tame down the maelstrom of emotions stirring in her chest. "Yeah, of course, San. Go be with your family. Hollywood can wait for you."

"But that doesn't mean that you have to, Q," the other woman told her. "Wait, that is. Go to Los Angeles and have a fucking amazing time for me. Do that; be the best fucking dancer the world has ever known, and I'll see you there."

"Santana—"

"Don't bail out now. Go chase your dreams, Quinn Fabray. There's nothing left in Ohio for you."

"But I can't—"

She was promptly interrupted by two punctuated honks, announcing the Greyhound's departure as the doors slid shut and it began backing out of the parking space. There was no escaping it now; she was at a pivotal moment in her journey—the inevitable crossroads—and she needed to choose which turn to take. Santana's insistent voice was urging her on, practically threatening her with violent bodily harm if she refused to move.

Before she knew it, she was running.

* * *

Sleep didn't come easy for her—hadn't been for a while now—and though she found the rhythm of the tires beneath her feet rather soothing, she found that she quite enjoyed staring out at the window, watching as the world passed by before her hazel eyes. Silhouettes of rolling hills greeted her against the dark backdrop of ink and splattering stars. Occasionally, the bright headlights of passing vehicles would blind her into seeing spots, but otherwise, she was content with listening to the soft snores of the stranger dozing off next to her.

**Alright  
****Yeah it's been a bumpy road  
****Roller coasters  
****High and low**

A soft smile graced her features, butterflies fluttering in her stomach in a way that she hadn't experienced since she was fourteen and had to kiss the cute boy in school on a cheap dare. It wasn't an unwelcoming feeling—more nostalgic than anything, in fact—and one she could at least associate to child-like wonderment of discovering something new. Sure, that bit of snogging had been clumsy and wet, akin to tonguing a sea bass, but it had also been kind of nice.

Her life motto: Overcoming obstacles.

She was a survivor; a soldier of time when moments are tough and she had to grow up too quickly. When her mother needed her the most and yet still pushed her away—refusing rehab and counseling—she had broken through the metaphoric fort and marched on. When the pitying looks from friends, teachers and neighbors never faded with the years, she tuned them out and made Valedictorian.

Above all, however, she was still a dreamer.

Santana had been right; there was nothing left for her in Ohio.

Applying for Yale and Brown had only been a beard. It didn't matter because her mom didn't fucking care; had perhaps even forgotten that she still had another daughter in the world.

**Fill the tank and drive the car  
****Pedal fast, pedal hard  
****You won't have to go that far**

Before she knew it, she was leaving.

* * *

At half past two, the coach rolled to a stop at Indianapolis for a layover. The slumbering woman barely stirred—a pudgy thing that filled up the seat and then some, and hogged the entire legroom—and Quinn had a full bladder dancing up a Samba. She needed the loo, and quite possibly a bar of chocolate to placate her rumbling stomach. Eventually, all it took was an impressive feat of acrobatics and a mad dash to the public washroom. With time to spare after such an excitement, she headed for the tiny convenience store at the corner.

Browsing down the short length of the aisle, she perused the shelves for her favorite treat, hoping to find her saving grace, when the low murmurs of a one-sided conversation caught her attention. A dude stood some five feet away from her, a mop of shaggy blonde hair, red flannel, faded jeans and tattered sneakers. He seemed to be having a debate with himself, intently studying the contents of two packets of candy; one in each hand and looking very conflicted about the decision.

**You wanna give up 'cause it's dark  
****We're really not that far apart**

She reckoned she could help ease his burden.

"I'd go for the M&amp;Ms. Skittles has this fucking habit of cutting the tongue after a while."

He lifted his head, then, and she was accosted with the greenest pair of eyes she had ever seen and a full set of lips that encompassed practically half of his boyishly handsome face. Floundering for a bit, as though he couldn't quite believe that she had actually spoken at all, let alone to him, he blinked a good couple of times in his quest to properly verbalize the words jumping around at the tip of his tongue. A brilliant flush colored his cheeks, and if it weren't so endearing, she would actually be worried about him.

"Uh…well, erm—yeah—I totally agree with you on that," he stammered in response, his low timbre laced with a hint of the Southern drawl. "I was just wondering which one I'd least likely to choke on when I accidentally doze of halfway through the bag."

She nodded indulgently, as though it made perfect sense. "Fair point, then. Of course, you'd also want to make sure that you don't get the one with the damn nuts; choking hazard and all."

"Of course," he chuckled, returning the red packet back to its original location.

Taking that as a cue to conclude their interaction, Quinn blindly snatched up the nearest chocolate bar that she thought she might enjoy and headed for the cashier. After receiving her change, she wouldn't even chance a glance back to the nameless fellow shopper, but she clearly heard him calling out to her.

"Thank you!"

Before she knew it, she was smiling.

* * *

Back on the road, Quinn found that she quite liked the chocolate—however daft the name of it was on the wrapper—and took a leisurely amount of time nibbling on it, stretching the treat for as long as possible. It lasted her a solid ten minutes before she had eaten it all up and was feeling rather bored. The novelty of gazing out into the darkness had worn off sometime after passing through Dayton, and aside from the woman still deep in hibernation, there wasn't much for entertainment on the bus.

Reaching down between her feet, she felt around in her backpack for a bit before producing an old silver iPod, a birthday present from Santana. She stuck the earpieces in and scrolled through her favorite playlist.

Vivaldi.

Before she knew it, she was asleep.

* * *

She vaguely registered being in Effingham—that gigantic cross looming intimidatingly against the glow of a spotlight was kind of hard to miss—and had blearily stayed awake for another half an hour before drifting back into a lull, violins and pianos still playing in her ears.

**So let your heart, sweet heart  
****Be your compass when you're lost  
****And you should follow it wherever it may go**

The dreams came effortlessly, as though they had been trapped in a music box and were just waiting for her to open the lock and allow it free rein in her mind. It started with a single drop of crimson paint—watercolor—that rippled and swirled in time to the melody in her head. Another color was added in—yellow this time—and she watched in fascination as they blended seamlessly, creating a lovely shade of orange. She dipped a finger into the mix, grinning when the pigments jumped apart. Lavender was introduced, and then a vibrant cerulean blue. With a careless swipe of her hand, she drew a rainbow. Giggling like a little schoolgirl, she scooped the paint up, each color staining a finger.

**When it's all said and done  
****You can walk instead of run  
****'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone**

A whisper in the breeze.

"Go."

Before she knew it, she was flying.

* * *

The warmth of the morning sun upon her face as it rose above the horizon became impossible to ignore. Groaning as she rubbed her knuckles against her eyes, Quinn stifled a yawn and turned to face the still-comatose lady.

"How much can a person fucking sleep?" she quietly mused, releasing a disgruntled snort. Shifting her body to stretch her stiff muscles, she rubbed at the slight crick in her neck in an attempt to soothe the dull ache of being cramped up in that small space for too long without a sensible recline.

Gazing out of the window, she attempted to figure out where they were. A passing signboard revealed that they had a couple of miles to St. Louis. The digital clock at the front of the bus declared that it was a quarter to six—an ungodly hour to be awake if she was still back in Ohio, and an abomination by Santana's standards—and Quinn searched the pockets of her bag for a stray pack of gum she knew was wedged in there somewhere.

By the time the bus lurched to a stop at the station, Quinn was itching to get off. After gathering her belongings, she marched straight to the first public washroom she could find, desperately needing a change of clothes and to properly clean her teeth. It felt like a dead rat had decomposed in her mouth, and she reckoned her face could use a good wash as well. Looking relatively more alive after her short bout of personal grooming, she went about relieving herself, hesitating for a second whether it was safe to leave her stuff outside the cubicle. She was the only one in the toilet at the moment, but anybody else could enter and nick her bag.

"Fuck it," she growled when the call of nature soon became urgent, and throwing caution to the wind, she hustled into the stall.

Seconds later, her ears perked up at the soft sounds of feet shuffling against the tiled floor. A squeak of sneakers confirmed her suspicions, and bending slightly forward, she immediately noticed a shadow moving from the space beneath the door. Scrambling to stand, she haphazardly tugged onto her jeans and zipped up. Without even bothering to flush, Quinn unlatched the lock, and just in time to see a figure bolt out of the washroom, the space now empty where her duffel bag had been. There wasn't anything remotely precious in there—mostly clothes, her undergarments and another pair of shoes—but she didn't exactly possess an unlimited credit card to spend on food, let alone a new wardrobe.

"Son of a bitch," she seethed, raking her fingers through her hair, effectively mussing it up again. "Fucking hell—just what—"

Darting back into the water closet, she grabbed her backpack and hastily gave chase.

But the thief was long gone.

"Fuck!" she cried out. "Why would anybody fucking do that?"

"You okay, ma'am?"

She spun around, ready to lash out at some unfortunate soul stupid enough to cross her path, only to stop short an instant later when she recognized the fellow now standing in front of her.

"You! You're—"

"That guy from the convenience store," he butted in, his lopsided grin irresistibly adorable. "Yeah, that's me."

Quinn wrinkled her nose. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, puzzled by his presence.

"Waiting for the coach," he replied with a mischievous glint in his stunning eyes. "As I'm sure you are."

"Were you on the Greyhound with me?"

He had the Southern charm turned on to a maximum. "I'm surprised you haven't figured that out yet."

"Sorry," she shrugged. "I guess I was preoccupied. Someone just stole a whole bag with all of my stuff while I was in the toilet."

Rather than being sympathetic to her situation, the guy merely chortled in amusement. "Rookie mistake. You must be new to this travelling thing."

Quinn didn't appreciate him mocking her. Generally, she didn't take well to people remotely trying to take the mickey out of her either, but something about the dude told her that he was harmless—or a really terrible stalker—so she settled on fixing him with a steely glare instead—as opposed to kicking him in the nuts and kissing his fatherhood goodbye—and a pointed arch of an eyebrow.

"You don't get to fucking judge me, alright?" she snapped. "Chatting over a pack of M&amp;Ms and Skittles doesn't give you that privilege. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to report this matter to the head office—"

She was about to sidestep him when his fingers caught her around the wrist. "Oh, hey, look I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to be an ass."

Chin jutting out defiantly, she refused to give him the satisfaction as she snatched her hand back, whipping around to poke him squarely on his impressively muscular chest. "Apology not accepted."

"Let me make it up to you, then," he offered, sincerity coated in his tone, his palm outstretched as though waiting for her to take it. "I'll pay for breakfast. After that nasty journey, I'm actually starving for some eggs and bacon."

She studied him critically, not saying a word.

"Please?"

Before she knew it, she was taking his proffered hand.

* * *

"So, what's your name?"

The corner of her lips twitched as she leaned forward and smirked at him from across the booth. His question seemed innocent enough—not as nonchalant as he thought, probably—but she had learned a long time ago that her identity was about as important as her safety. Clearly, she still hadn't found it in her to completely trust him yet.

"Is it important?" she quipped with a tad of cheek.

He shrugged non-committedly. "Not unless you'd prefer that I call you ma'am all the time."

"It's always so formal with you Southern gentleman," she remarked.

His responding chortle was breathy with a hint of self-deprecation, a haunting shadow suddenly falling over his handsome features. "There's nothing gentlemanly at all about me, honestly."

Now she was intrigued.

"And why's that?"

"Depends," he shot back roguishly. "Why, pray tell, are you so interested?"

She regarded him for a short moment, trying to suss him out. In her youthful years of experience, she knew for a fact that a man wouldn't play a game without knowing the stakes or the inevitable prize at the end. By the looks of it, he wasn't that cocky. "Maybe it's because you amuse me so."

Two mugs of coffee were unceremoniously placed down in front of them; the overworked server clearly couldn't give a shit. The interruption, however, was a brilliant distraction to their flirtatious banter, and as Quinn wrapped her hands around the hot plastic to warm them up, she reckoned it was best to cool it off before things could unintentionally escalate any further than it ought to between two complete strangers.

"I'm Sam Evans, by the way."

She gave it three dramatic seconds before she answered. "Rose Tyler."

He almost choked on his scalding beverage, coughing and wiggling his burnt tongue as she helpfully held out a serviette. "Fucking hell," he wheezed. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that you were trying to kill me."

"What?"

"How often do you get away with that?" he managed to snicker between gasps of air.

"Get away with what?" she deadpanned, not sure what exactly he found particularly humorous.

Sam—if that was even truly his name at all—pushed his half empty mug aside and laced his fingers together. "A person has got to be pretty stupid—or devoid of an education in pop culture—to think that you're really her."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she insisted, still feigning ignorance despite the fact that he had obviously ousted her and called on her bluff.

"Was your ex-boyfriend a Whovian?"

"What?"

He gestured meaninglessly into the air. "You know, a Whovian is someone—"

"I know what—or whom—a Whovian is," she retorted haughtily. "I just can't believe you'd only assume that I know that because of some imaginary ex-boyfriend."

Their breakfast arrived, halting his repartee even before he could open his mouth and offer one condescendingly. As if by mutual agreement, they began digging in, both deciding that anything else besides filling their stomachs could wait. For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds passing between them were the scraping of utensils and the background buzz of the diner.

"Good thing you're blonde, then."

She snapped her gaze up to meet his. "Why?"

Finishing up the last mouthful of scrambled eggs, Sam wiped his mouth with a clean napkin and swallowed. "If you'd been a brunette, that name wouldn't have fooled anybody."

Before she knew it, she was laughing.

* * *

Sam flopped presumptuously next to her, dropped his canvas backpack down on his feet, and then wriggled around for a bit in the seat to better accommodate his towering height. Curled awkwardly onto his side, he fixed her with an expectant look. Sighing, she reluctantly faced him with the petulant attitude of a misbehaved toddler.

"What?"

"What's your story?" he asked, squinting at her. "I mean, what are you doing on a Greyhound all alone traipsing across the country?"

"I'm not traipsing."

"You're not answering the question, either."

Scoffing, she stubbornly folded her arms across her chest. "Oh, wow, you're so fucking pushy. Do you treat every woman you meet like this or am I just special?"

"Still not answering the question," he tutted. Although his tone was teasing, there was an underlying seriousness in his words. "Come on, tell me."

"I don't need to tell you anything, Sam."

He seemed to have realized that he'd overstepped his boundaries with her and politely pulled back. Quinn felt a wave of relief crashing over her, glad to be free of his suffocating scrutiny even for a short second. She knew she wasn't off the hook yet; he was sure to start prying again after a while and as much as possible, she wanted to cherish the peaceful silence. For all intents and purposes, she might just end up tossing him out of the fucking bus the next time he decided to play twenty questions. Perhaps she ought to feign sleep; maybe then he would stop badgering her and leave her the hell alone.

"You know," he began before her eyelids were even shut. "Running away isn't the answer to everything."

"Oh, my fucking God," she grumbled. "I'm trying to sleep here, Evans."

"Are you, though?"

She was really considering kicking him off the seat. "My eyes were closed!"

"I meant running away."

Lolling her head to the side, she sent him another piercing glare, teeth bared and jaws clenched. "Didn't we have that talk about shutting up?"

"Was that before or after you flirted with me in the convenience store?"

"I did not!" she sputtered, but then quickly recalled where she was and cleared her throat, lowering her voice, lest she wanted the entire occupants in the bus in on her business. "I wasn't flirting with you."

"'Of course, you'd also want to make sure that you don't get the one with the damn nuts; choking hazard and all'," he fluently repeated. "Does that ring a bell?"

"That didn't mean anything," she hissed. "I was merely being a helpful citizen. You're completely delusional to think otherwise."

He clicked his tongue, not buying into her defense. "Sounded a lot like flirting to me."

"You have a really skewed understanding of that concept, then."

"I didn't say that it was a bad thing," he continued. "On the contrary, I quite liked it. I've never really been hit on before, you see, but I can give you a whole dictionary of names to the girls that have flat-out rejected me and it's actually a nice change—"

"That's because you're lousy at it," she deadpanned.

His face twisted indignantly at first, but then he seemed to realize the reality in her remarks. "You're right," he agreed good-naturedly with a soft chuckle. "I am quite rubbish with women."

"And why's that?"

"Could be because they aren't you."

Before she knew it, she was blushing.

* * *

It became rather companionable after that; he didn't bug her as much, respected her enough to keep to his side when she drifted off for a kip, and had sneakily plugged in one of her ear buds so that he too could listen in on her music. When Quinn awoke at Fort Leonard Wood to his light prodding to her in the shoulder, she noticed with alarm that her head had been leaning on his.

"Oh, shit," she squeaked and immediately withdrew herself, wiping the bit of drool down the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to doze off on you and dribble my spit all over your shirt."

"Believe me, it was my pleasure," he crooned, a salacious grin upon his full lips. His green eyes—more striking where the sun shone—twinkled elfishly. "Anyway, we're stopping for a quick ten minutes, so if you need to go do your womanly things—"

"Womanly things?"

"Did anybody tell you that you make really adorable noises in your sleep?"

The color drained from her face, the indifferent expression morphing into one of mortification. "Fuck, no," she grimaced. "God, how embarrassing."

"It was kind of like a cross between a kitten and a sparrow," he continued, blatantly oblivious to her distress. "A little whiny and high-pitched sort of—"

"Okay, stop," she squeaked, her cheeks heating up. "Let's not go there. I'm already humiliated enough as it is."

Before she knew it, he was leaning over to drop a chaste peck to the corner of her mouth.

* * *

Their next rest stop was in Springfield, and it was a wonder how simply sitting down for a few hours could work up quite an appetite. As she regarded the amount of food loaded onto Sam's tray, she reckoned it went both ways. Unscrewing the cap on the bottle of water, Quinn took a couple of nice long gulps, but then she was aware that he was staring and self-consciously ran her sleeve over her chin.

"What?"

"You're rather thirsty," he commented unnecessarily as he picked up a slice of fry with his fingers.

She snorted in an un-lady-like manner, peeling the wrapper from her burger. "Talking to you for an hour straight can do that to a person."

"Well," he drawled, a tad bit too smug for his good. "If you don't want to talk, there are other things we can do with our mouths."

Her jaw dropped, the food pausing in midair en route to her parted lips, and in one comical second, she blinked. "Were you just flirting with me?"

A sheepish smile graced his features, a hint of crimson coloring the tips of his ears. "Maybe."

Before she knew it, she was laughing again.

* * *

Quinn noticed the obvious shift between them by the time they were back on board and heading for Joplin. It was as though they had reached a certain level of understanding, or—if she might be so bold to say—an acknowledgment that there was a spark of attraction sizzling and cracking in the empty spaces when they weren't in physical contact with each other. Those tiny gestures he did—placing a hand on the small of her back as he ushered them out of the diner after lunch, brushing his finger almost carelessly down the length of her arm—seemed to be a testament of progression even though neither one of them had expressed any interest for more. Besides, a bit of harmless dalliance didn't hurt anybody.

"What's the funniest thing that's happened to you whilst travelling?" she blurted out, if only to fill the silence because she had grown accustomed to hearing his gob during the quiet ride.

"This right here is pretty funny," he beamed.

"I'm serious, come on."

He mulled over it with the solemnness an equivalent to that of pondering the existence of mankind, lips twisting thoughtfully. "Do you want funny or interesting?"

"Either, I'm not picky."

"Alright, fine." Smoothening down the front of his flannel shirt, Sam exhaled a long breath of air. "So this one time I was in Montana, and you can only find a Greyhound in Missoula, but I was all the way in Billings. Rented a car and took the 90 to Bozeman—"

"Why couldn't you have just driven all the way to your final destination?" she wondered out loud.

"I have my reasons," he retorted. "Anymore questions?"

"No, sorry, continue."

"It was three in the morning, I was already dozing off behind the wheel and there were fields rolling by for miles. Occasionally you'd see a stray cow, and there'll be trucks passing now and then, but then all of a sudden, there was this bright blue light that blinded me for a second and then it shot over some hills to my left," he narrated, almost falling off his seat as he gestured wildly with his hands, his eyes twinkling like Christmas lights. "Of course I thought it was my head playing tricks on me, but then the hills began to glow."

Quinn's right eyebrow sprung up. "Are you sure this isn't from an episode of the X-Files?"

"Hey, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop budging into my story," he huffed.

"I'm sorry but I have a hard time believing it. I mean—"

He rudely interrupted her mid-sentence by grabbing onto her face and delving in to force his lips upon hers. Their noses brushed as he angled his neck just slightly to plunder his tongue into her mouth. She gasped at the unsuspecting burst of tingling sensations swirling in the pit of her stomach, threatening to cause a bloody riot in her body. Never before had she been so thoroughly snogged that she had almost forgotten to breathe. It was only when her lungs started burning did she tear herself away, immediately sucking in a heavenly lungful of air as she tried to recover from the bout of dizziness.

"Could you please let me finish?"

There was a husky quality to his voice that made her blood run hot. "Okay," she whispered, still disoriented.

"You know what, on second thought, that story wasn't very interesting," he blubbered on aimlessly, his gaze still locked onto her swollen lips. "Was just a weather balloon in the end."

"Of course," she nodded. "I thought as much."

Before she knew it, she was once again urgently accosted by his full lips.

* * *

By the time they got to Tulsa, innocent bits of kissing had escalated into randy groping of hands. Beneath cotton and flannel, she found the warmth of his smooth skin and decided she'd like to set up shop at the delicious groove of his pelvis. Running her fingers down the bumps and ridges of his abdominals, Quinn failed to suppress the moan when he began tracing tantalizing patterns just above the waistline of her denims.

"We really should stop," she panted, shoving lightly at his chest.

His cheeks were flushed, bright green eyes glazed over and pupils blown wide. "Why? I have this impression that we're both enjoying this very much."

"Yes, well," she rasped when he ducked down to nibble on the column of her neck. "Maybe a little too much, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"We shouldn't even be doing this," she weakly protested, tugging on his hair so that she could have a proper look at him. "We're two complete strangers going two separate paths. Chances are, we won't ever be seeing each other again."

"And that's a problem, how?"

She untangled herself completely from his embrace and then primly straightened her clothes, pulling at her top from where it had ridden up. "You don't sound at all surprised by this. Do you do this often in your travels? Hook up with a random stranger?"

"What? Why would you—I thought it's pretty clear that I'm not exactly proficient with the art of flirting."

"Look," she sighed. "I've never done this before, alright? I just don't want to start something I can't finish."

He smirked. "There wouldn't be a problem with finishing anything—"

"Not the fucking point," she spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm not here for your entertainment."

The bus pulled into a lot for another forty-minute rest stop, but neither one of them made a move to get off. They sat contemplating for a long moment, Quinn gnawing on her bottom lip. She hadn't been lying earlier; diving headfirst into a situation like this simply wasn't what she did, no matter the fact that she was doing the same hopping into the Greyhound on the way across the country. The journey was terrifying enough without any added complications of building a relationship that was doomed to fail even from the beginning.

Did she even want one?

"Are you afraid?"

Dragging her hazel eyes up from her lap to bravely meet his emerald ones, she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Of what?"

"Falling in love."

She hesitated, only because she couldn't decide if she ought to tell him the whole fucking truth, but thought better of it. Nobody needed to know.

"Aren't we all?"

Sam chuckled humorlessly.

"Damn straight."

Before she knew it, she was climbing over his lap and heading for the exit.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair of sandwiches and chips, and none of the boisterous banter between them. Given the amount of time together, it didn't make sense for it to feel weird, but it did. Stolen glances replaced what would've otherwise been innuendo-laced conversations, and when they stopped by a convenience store, she pretended not to notice it when he bought two packets of M&amp;Ms instead of one.

She nicked some on the bus, almost challenging him to stop her each time she tossed one into her mouth and chewed obnoxiously on it. He didn't rise to the bait, realizing exactly what she was playing at, and instead peppered indulgent little kisses on random spots on her face that continually sent her into fits of giggles. When the last of the chocolate was gone and her hand sunk into an empty bag, she pouted something petulant. He eased it away, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip.

"I can handle it if you can."

**Forgot directions on your way  
****Don't close your eyes don't be afraid**

Her pulse was racing, her skin tingling from where he was still touching her; those expressive, hypnotic green orbs staring at her with open honesty, and she found herself undeniably drawn to him in a way that she hadn't about anybody else. Perhaps this was part of her new adventure; a celebratory hurrah if it were.

"Okay."

He beamed. "Okay?"

**We might be crazy late at night I can't wait til you arrive  
****Follow stars you'll be alright**

She nodded. "Okay."

They spent the next two-hour long journey in virtually discreet, torturously teasing foreplay. Their arms would occasionally brush against each other, his warm palm would caress the length of her thigh and then inch ever so slowly inwards where she was thrumming for him, and by the time she was bold enough to cup him through his trousers, he was already hard and twitching. Staying relatively quiet had been a challenge; she reckoned her lower lip had a permanent dent from where she kept biting into it, and to Sam's credit, he had managed to muffle most of his moans, covering them up with punctuated coughs and an insane amount of throat clearing.

The stop at Oklahoma City couldn't have arrived any sooner. Already impatiently tugging on her hand, Sam practically marched them over to the nearest unoccupied toilet cubicle, remembering just for a second to lock the door before shoving her up against it, his lips crashing down on hers. Hands flew and grapple for purchase on every available skin, and she gasped aloud when he dove in and found her breasts. Encased in a simple cotton bra, he probably didn't think twice before slipping in to cup them, his thumbs drawing circles around her awakened peaks. She clung onto him, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of heat coursing down her spine as she grasped at the strands of his shaggy blonde hair.

"You okay?" he croaked against the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

**You wanna give up 'cause it's dark  
****We're really not that far apart**

She shuddered, whimpering when his tongue darted out to trace the outer shell of her ear. "Yeah, I'm okay."

He dropped his hands further south, lingering at the small of her back, and she sucked in a sharp intake of air when he unexpectedly slid one into her knickers to massage the globe of her left butt cheek. She moaned into his mouth, arched into his front, and keened as he pushed his hardened bulge into the apex between her thighs. She pushed his hips away to undo the button and unzip his fly, wrenching his jeans down the length of his legs before allowing gravity to take over.

"Figures you're a boxers sort of guy," she snickered, admiring the impressive tent pitching in the pair of dark gray pants.

Not wanting to be outdone, Sam wrestled with the fasteners on her trousers and in a blink, they too were pooling by her feet.

"Not lace or satin," he commented with an arch of his eyebrow. "I don't know who's more disappointed."

"I'm all about the comfort."

Sam didn't seem to mind too much as he yanked it downwards, and she was quick to return the favor. There was a moment of ogling; she was sizing him up, admiring his gifted package, thoroughly impressed. He might have sensed her delight and visibly preened, chest puffing up in manly pride.

"I take it you like what you see."

She took a step forward and bridged the gap between them, grabbing onto the lapels of his flannel and seizing his lips once again. Snogging Sam was a blur of tongue and clashing teeth, but she wasn't one to complain at the lack in finesse because he more than made up for it when his restless fingers ventured into her moist depths, prodding through her folds in search for that pot of honey. A needy sound escaped her throat, his low growl harmonizing perfectly.

"Hang onto my neck," he commanded hoarsely. "Don't let go."

Mind hazy with lust, she barely registered his words before she was hoisted up into the air and pinned against the door. It rattled with the force of his actions, but all she could do was helplessly cling onto him and trust that he wouldn't drop her. The tip of his engorged manhood brushed tantalizingly against her sensitive nub, nudging into her opening.

"Wait, wait," she panted. "If we're really going to do this, then I suppose we should stop being strangers on a bus."

Somehow, he managed to keep her upright, his hands supporting her derriere. "What are you talking about?"

She leaned in next to his ear. "Quinn."

"What?"

"My name is Quinn."

His boyishly handsome face cracked into a smile. "Nice to meet you, Quinn."

Giggling despite herself, she quipped, "nice to meet you too, Sam."

"Shall we?"

"We shall."

Before she knew it, she was sinking down onto his straining member, completely filled to the hilt.

* * *

It was well and dark when they passed through El Reno towards Elk City, but Quinn had unceremoniously nodded off ten minutes into the journey and hadn't woken up during the short pit stop until Sam had regretfully roused her at Amarillo. At half past one in the morning, nothing much else was open save for a small 24-hour diner across the street.

Her stomach grumbled at the first aroma of fried food. Earlier, their impromptu sexual escapade had caused them the time for supper, and it was only as she slid into the booth did she realize just how starved she really was. Disregarding budget constraints—because she actually had one—Quinn ordered a hefty amount of chicken, fries and a side of salad, while Sam regarded her with a level of amusement.

"You're awfully hungry," he noted after placing his order of a simple bacon burger and coffee.

"Vigorous exercise tends to do that to oneself," she said drily.

"You weren't complaining before."

"I'm not complaining now."

He hummed knowingly. "Where are you heading off to, anyway?"

"Los Angeles," she replied stiffly, sitting upright to let him know that it wasn't a topic that she was comfortable dwelling into. Despite all that had transpired between them—the exchange of bodily fluids and such—they weren't exactly friends, per se; traveling companions with benefits, perhaps would be a more accurate representation. "What about you?"

"Phoenix," he told her without hesitation. "Arizona."

Quinn tried to ignore the pang of disappointment she felt in her heart. "Oh? Going home?"

"To my uncle's, actually," he confessed, a hint of a grimace on his features. "For some boring family business that I really can't be bothered with, but, you know, duty calls."

"What kind of business?"

"Cattle ranching."

She wasn't surprised, not really. "And I take it you're not a fan?"

He shrugged. "I've been helping out every year since I was fourteen. Can't back out now."

"But you don't like it."

**So let your heart, sweet heart  
****Be your compass when you're lost  
****And you should follow it wherever it may go**

"I don't."

"What do you want to do, Sam Evans?"

The glimmer of mischief returned in his emerald orbs. "You."

**When it's all said and done  
****You can walk instead of run  
****'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone**

Her laughter broke the tension in the air, back to the playful atmosphere that had before resonated between them. It was a nice interval from the graveness of his admission, that he was well on his way to fulfilling another obligation that he wasn't fully committed to.

"That's a given, obviously."

"Obviously."

Before she knew it, she was reaching over to take his hand.

* * *

She had slept with her head in his lap all the way to Tucumcari, only half aware of the fact that his fingers had kept toying with the strands of her hair. His soothing gesture was like a balm to her tempestuous soul, calming her jumpy nerves because she knew that when the stop came, they would have to go their separate ways and she would once again be on her own. Somehow, that terrified her more than it did before. Within the past twenty-four hours, she had grown rather fond of his camaraderie, it would seem.

The Albuquerque sunrise was a breath-taking sight, and one that would forever be seared into her memories. Shades of orange and yellow blanketed the sky, bathing the landscape with a warmth unlike any she had seen back home. She reckoned she would even forgive Sam for shaking her up at such an ungodly hour.

His arms snaked around her waist, pulling her flushed against his chest as he nuzzled his nose into that sweet spot behind her ear.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Quite right, too," she sighed contentedly, sinking into his embrace. "What time is it?"

"Half past six."

"Oh, wow," she groaned, and then rubbed at her eyes. "I'm so not ready for this."

He tightened his hold on her with an echoing hum. "What are you going to do in Los Angeles?"

She shrugged as best as she could, given the position. "What everybody else does, of course: try to make it big in Hollywood, achieve fame and fortune; all that dumb shit."

"If it's so dumb, then why are you doing it?"

She stared out of the window at the passing scenery, hesitating with her answer. "I want to be the best fucking dancer the country has ever seen."

"You're a dancer?" His tone was of pure curiosity and interest, the lilt at the end of his voice akin to a kid at Disneyland.

"Not professionally," she said with a hint of bitterness on her tongue. "At least, not yet. But I want to be, and Los Angeles is the best place to go."

"You can be the best damn dancer anywhere, Quinn. Why not New York? Or perhaps to London or Paris?"

"First of all, I can't afford those places," she explained rather morosely. "They're amazing places to be, and the heart is willing, but my bank account says 'yeah, right' and shuts the door at my face."

"What about Phoenix?"

She stilled for a moment before twisting around to face him. "Phoenix?"

He swallowed hard, a war of conflicting emotions reflecting in his clear emeralds. "Yeah," he nodded. "I'm sure you've heard of Royal Dance Works."

"I have, actually."

"They're always looking for some new talents," he pointed out. "I mean, last I heard."

"That all sounds fucking brilliant, but I don't have anything in Phoenix, Sam."

He blinked.

**You wanna give up 'cause it's dark  
****We're really not that far apart**

"You have me."

Before she knew it, she was hugging him, not wanting to let go.

* * *

Sam offered to pay for breakfast, only because he swore the place made some pretty amazing blueberry and banana pancakes that he absolutely insisted that she tried. The coffee wasn't too bad either—nothing remotely like tar scrapings or diluted antibiotics—but for the better part, Quinn had a hard time figuring out how on earth she was going to finish the heaping pile in front of her.

"This could feed an entire army," she remarked, spearing her fork down the edge, the stack dripping with maple syrup. "Are you trying to fatten me up before sending me to the slaughterhouse?"

He scoffed around a mouthful of his meal and chased it down with a sip of coffee. "I don't think you'd sell for much," he snorted. "There's hardly any meat in your system. You're like a dog's favorite chew toy."

"I seem to recall you rather enjoyed chewing on me yourself," she quipped. "I have the marks and all to prove it too."

His lips twitched in a lopsided grin. "Well, I am very good at branding—"

"You finish that sentence and I'm going to permanently saddle you to a bull, I swear," she mock threatened, pointing her knife at him. Chuckling, he raised both his hands in surrender. "So, what do you do when you're not in Phoenix taming the beasts and proving your manhood?"

"I don't know."

Her right eyebrow sprang up dubiously. "You don't know?"

"It pretty much depends on what tickles my fancy that particular day," he elaborated, and then paused for another gulp of his hot beverage. "I travel quite a bit; I can't seem to stay in one place for long. I do odd jobs when I can find them. I've been a server, a cashier, a bartender, a mechanic; name it and I've probably done it twice over."

"How'd you do it? How'd you keep moving?"

"For me, it's just a necessity; a way of survival," he declared with a bit of flourish. "If I stop, I'd probably go bored, wither and die an unfulfilling life."

"That sounds suspiciously like you're running away from something."

"Running away isn't the answer to everything."

Quinn chewed on her food thoughtfully. "So you've said."

"And I mean it."

"So, why then?"

There was an air of nonchalance when he answered her.

"Why not?"

Mindlessly, she moved the pieces of pancakes around her plate. "On your own?"

"Not a bad life."

She glanced up at him through her thick lashes.

"Better with two."

Before she knew it, he was on his feet and dragging her out the door.

* * *

There was a sense of desperation in the way he took her to completion. Grunting with an effort to hang on just that little bit longer, Sam had his fingers digging into the sides of her hips as he continued to slam his pelvis into hers. Each powerful thrust coaxed breathless gasps and low moans from her throat, bringing her into a quivering mess in his strong arms. When a slight change in angle hit her just right, she cried his name out and clenched around him, a shudder coursing throughout her body.

He bit back a sob, his rhythm stuttering for a moment before he seemed to catch himself. Face contorted in pleasure, he gave another hearty pump before hissing out his release, spilling into her with wild abandon. She clutched onto him, whimpering as he rode the last waves of his orgasmic bliss. Chests heaving, they slumped down onto the toilet seat, limbs tangled around each other, utterly spent and sated.

"This is becoming a problem," he mumbled drowsily.

"What is?"

"Sex in a toilet cubicle."

She giggled despite their predicament. "Yeah, it doesn't exactly spell 'romance', does it?"

"It's all in the state of mind, Quinn."

In approximately ten seconds, the conversation was sure to take on a ridiculous turn, if past experiences were of any indication. "I sincerely apologize for my lack of imagination, but in my defense, it doesn't exactly smell like a bed of roses in here."

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet," he quoted on cue.

"That was fucking random, okay?"

"You're fucking random."

Her jaw dropped. "Sam Evans, did you just swear?"

"You're a terrible influence," he joked, sweeping the stray strands of her blonde tresses aside.

"Says he who's trying to lure me into going to Phoenix with him."

He grimaced, having the decency to look the least bit sheepish. "You caught that, huh?"

"You weren't exactly being subtle about it," she smirked, teasingly poking him in the ribs.

"Sorry."

She had the nagging feeling that he wasn't, but decided she didn't want to put a hole in the wall. "You're not serious about it, are you?"

His brows furrowed, a shadow falling over his flushed face. "I wasn't laughing or dancing a jingle, was I?"

"You need to stop answering a question with a question."

"You need to stop deflecting," he retorted.

She pushed herself off him and busied herself with straightening out her wrinkled clothes, scrunching her nose when she spied her jeans sprawled on the unsanitary floor and lamented for a nice hot shower and a fresh change in undergarments. Manky from the sweat, grime and remnants of their recent amorous activities, she peeled her tank top off and used it to dab fruitlessly at her skin.

"What are you doing?"

"I feel disgusting," she grumbled, scrubbing down her torso.

He tore his gaze away, though not quick enough to hide the hurt clouding in his eyes. "Just what a guy needs to hear after sex," he bit out, his ego clearly bruised as he reached for his knapsack. "Glad to be of service."

"Okay, stop," she gently berated with a sigh. "You know that's not what I meant."

She saw the way the muscles in his jaw worked, a strained tension between his shoulders when he fished out one of his flannel button-downs and graciously held it out to her. Wordlessly accepting the article, she swiftly divested herself of the cotton bra before slipping into the well-washed softness. The length reached her mid-thigh and the sleeves were way too long, spilling over her fingers. She rolled them up to her elbows in a slap-dashed fashion and didn't miss the tender look he sent her way.

"How do I look?" she asked, twirling in a circle for his full inspection.

"Insatiable."

Before she knew it, she was pouncing on him once again.

* * *

They passed Grants and Gallup in a blur, and before she knew it, they were crossing into Arizona. A ripple like crashing waves played havoc in the pit of her stomach, a peculiar reaction that she hadn't anticipated as she caught sight of the welcome signage along the roadside. She swallowed the lump in her throat and hoped that Sam wouldn't pick up on the way she froze up with dread.

"You okay?"

There was no fooling him, was there?

"Five more hours."

She didn't need to say much more than that. The realization dawned almost immediately, the storm brewing just beneath his tightly contained emotions. It proved to be a bit too much a moment later when his demeanor cracked and the anguish bled through his façade. His grip around her faltered as his fingers twitched restlessly against her waist. There was a cold indifference that swept through his person, as though he was physically bracing himself from an impact.

"You okay?"

It was her turn to ask.

"I don't need a reminder, Quinn," he spat out, bitterness in each word.

She yanked herself from his hold, glaring at his sudden bout of unwarranted anger directed her way. No way in fucking hell was this her fault; they didn't have a commitment to each other, anyways, so she failed to comprehend his rage at her pointing out the inevitable between them.

"You knew this was going to happen right from the start," came her curt accusation. "Where do you think this was heading?"

He floundered with a response, his mouth opening and closing but failing to utter a single sound. "I don't know," he managed eventually. "To Phoenix? Were you honestly expecting a fling between us?"

"What the fuck happened to 'I can handle it if you can'?"

"It flew out this fucking bus the moment I did a stupid thing and fell in love with you."

They had garnered quite the attention from the other passengers on the coach as heads swiveled to regard them with different levels of curiosity. Heat whooshed into her cheeks and flushed down to her chest. Embarrassed and not used to the scrutiny, she adverted her eyes out at the passing scenery and wrapped her arms protectively around her middle. She heard a disgruntled noise, but chose to cleverly ignore it.

His declaration swam in her head, echoing like haunted lyrics of a dying love song. The depths of which they resonated in her heart caused a hitch in her breath, the thudding in her chest speeding up from the thought that albeit early dismissal of getting their feelings involved, he had gone right ahead anyway and traded his in. She was aware that her silence probably seemed like an outright rejection on her part, but it couldn't have been further from the truth. This was all so new for her; she didn't know how to deal.

"You shouldn't have."

She spoke so quietly, she doubted he heard her, but somehow he did.

"I know."

Before she knew it, she was sobbing, already mourning for their loss.

* * *

She couldn't wait to get off the bus when they stopped at Flagstaff for a quick fill up. The proximity between them was suffocating; she desperately needed some fresh air. Hopping off the steps, she headed straight for the convenience store. Perhaps some mindless browsing would ease the jitters tumbling around in her nerves. The candy aisle was her salvation, and with neigh a purpose, her eyes absentmindedly scanned the rows of chocolates and sweets.

A cold brush of fingers startled her. Reflexively, she made to snatch her hand away, only to have the action quelled when he clasped their palms together. The contact ignited a million tiny explosions deep in her core and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to properly compose herself.

"I'm sorry."

Her hazel orbs snapped up to meet his emerald ones, wide, pleading and apologetic. Puzzled by his sentiments, Quinn furrowed her brows, studying the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

"You don't need to be," she returned. "It wasn't—you—we didn't plan on—"

"I don't want to let you go."

It was all too much. Unable to bear it any longer, she ripped herself away from him, inhaling through gritted teeth.

"Please don't make this anymore difficult than it already is, Sam."

He came right up to her, their chests bumping as he ducked his head so that she wouldn't have to strain her neck looking up at him. Almost instinctively, she grasped onto his tapered hips to steady her wobbling knees.

"This can be so easy, Quinn."

"Yes, it can."

Before she knew it, she was jostling past him and darting out the door.

* * *

It was a little after four when they reached Glendale, and then she stopped counting down the minutes altogether because it only made everything real. Withdrawing back into herself, she had refused to steal even a glimpse at him—the sullen guy currently occupying the seat across the aisle—and part of her was relieved for the reprieve.

At least now she didn't feel like she was constantly having the air squeezed out of her lungs. He was humming a tune, something she couldn't recognize, and laced with melancholic undertones. It suited them, and yet she just wanted him to shut up; to forget that he was even there. Her eyelids fluttered as slowly, everything faded to black.

**So let your heart, sweet heart  
****Be your compass when you're lost  
****And you should follow it wherever it may go**

Colors swirled in her dreams, splotches of paint that filled the cloudless sky. They danced in the wind, spreading and colliding to form new tints and shades that she didn't even know existed. She extended her arms up, dipping her index finger tentatively to test their silky texture against her skin. It was warm and thick, coating her digits with stunning vibrancy and saturation that was almost too glaring to her eyes. Yet, she couldn't look away.

**When it's all said and done  
****You can walk instead of run  
****'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone**

A whisper in the breeze.

"Go."

Before she knew it, she was soaring towards the light.

* * *

A shrill screech of unoiled breaks jolted her awake and automatically, she turned in search of the one person that had come to mean something in her life, only to find the seat completely empty. Something rustled in her hand and she glanced down at the scrap of paper tucked in the cradle of her palm. On it, written in a messy scrawl were three little words.

_Don't forget me._

Tears sprung into her eyes, blurring her vision as she choked back a sob.

A flash of blonde and flannel caught her attention, and in her haste, narrowly missed smashing her nose against the glass pane of the window, ensuring that it was indeed Sam Evans slinking away. She darted out of her seat, practically flew down the steps and raced to catch up to him. Her nails dug into his wrist, halting him mid-stride.

"Sam…"

He slowly spun around, his face a blank slate and clear of emotions. His eyes, though, those stunning pair of molten green, spoke of volumes, some of which she couldn't even begin to comprehend; such foreign concepts still new to her. Her resolve was fast crumbling with each unspoken second that ticked by.

"I won't forget you," she vowed.

The smile that appeared across his features was an undecided mixture of anguish and content. Almost hesitantly, he lifted one hand to delicately cup her cheek.

"Have a good life, Quinn."

He kissed her, then, a soft and chaste brush of lips, lingering just slightly before reluctantly pulling away. The tenderness sparked a fresh wave of tears, and it took every inch of her sanity to resist grabbing onto him and never letting go. She sensed his inner turmoil—a mirror to her very own—before he straightened abruptly and recoiled as though he had just been burned.

Before she knew it, he was walking away.

* * *

She barely noticed when the bus left Tolleson and cruised into Blythe, or even towards Indio for that matter. The ten-minute break at San Bernardino was only enough for the mandatory loo usage and nothing else. Her movements have gone mechanically, as though her body and her mind were two separate entities.

Sam's departure had left her hollow, the emptiness now nothing but a stark reminder that his presence had been her sole comfort throughout the journey so far. Huddled into herself with another random stranger now taking residence next to her, Quinn mulled over what the future would look like. An adventure awaited her, a life in a new place; a new beginning and another chance to finally do something right with herself.

So why did it suddenly seem like those things didn't matter?

The silhouettes of those telltale palm trees came into view, and she waited for the thrilling excitement in her chest that never came. Inwardly, she cursed the day she opened her mouth and decided he was a good idea. As much as she wanted to, however, she realized that she didn't really regret a second of it. Even worse, she'd do it all over again in a heartbeat.

When the bus pulled up at her final destination half an hour later, the buzz of the Los Angeles nightlife engulfed her with a strangely calm sensation. People shuffled around her in a rush to get to places, jostling her if need be, and she reckoned that was it.

She had a plan: Get a room for the night, and the next morning, she was going to find one Shelby Corcoran.

It was simple enough.

Still, she stood by the curb, Sam's note in her fist.

Before she knew it, she was heading for the ticket counter.

* * *

At fifteen to ten, she alighted the Greyhound one more time; hopefully for a long while to come. The warmth of the sun hit the side of her face just right, a bright glare in her hazel eyes, and she reckoned that it was going to be a beautiful day. She chuckled, at a loss now that her plans have changed.

"Quinn?"

**When it's all said and done  
****You can walk instead of run  
****'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone**

A tingle shot down her spine; that low timbre and Southern drawl she had come to love sent her heart racing.

Before she knew it, she was crashing into his welcoming arms.

* * *

**A/N:** The end! This is a massive oneshot—the longest one yet—with 21 pages of it on Word Doc, and I've thoroughly enjoyed writing it, only because 'strangers on a bus' had been something I've always wanted to explore. Hope you guys have enjoyed it!

Updated (17/10/2014): Okay, I think I've tolerated certain reviewers for a while and I'd like to make a few things clear. I've had a few reviews by 'guests' that I have removed because of comments that I find really amusing—not. I've had people complain how this story isn't 'smut' at all, that 10,000 words wasn't worth reading. Well, firstly, I made no mentions that this story was going to be a smutfest. It's rated M for sexual content, but that doesn't mean I need to include the words 'suck his cock', or 'fuck his dick', or 'lick her pussy'. There are other ways to describe two characters having sex without making it sound so crude. Secondly, I don't owe you anything, mysterious 'guest', and I suggest if explicit smut is what you're looking for and it's not something I've delivered, go read something else, or better yet, write one yourself.

Song used: "Compass" by Lady Antebellum


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